Where All My Journeys End
by bookishandi
Summary: Some perspectives after the events of "Journey's End." Rose, the Doctor, and Jackie. Rated T for language; spoilers through "Journey's End," of course.
1. Rose Tyler

_Doctor Who_ property of the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
>Title and epigraph of each chapter comes from the imitable Tracy Chapman's "The Promise."<br>Rated T for language.

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><p><em>If you wait for me then I'll come for you <em>  
><em>Although I've traveled far <em>  
><em>I always hold a place for you in my heart <em>  
><em>If you think of me If you miss me once in awhile <em>  
><em>Then I'll return to you <em>  
><em>I'll return and fill that space in your heart<em>

* * *

><p>God, when I was running toward him in that street. Was it only a few hours ago? I saw Donna first, and I knew from her smile that she was almost as happy for us as I was. Good bird, her. I'm so glad he had a friend, a real friend. The last thing I wanted was him to be alone. And then we started running, running like we always did, except this time it was <em>towards<em> and not _away_. Everything I'd been working for; all the failed jumps. All the near misses. There was this, like, disconnect between my head and my legs. They just kept moving and it felt so good to see him—him!—and I was trying so hard not to just start bawling like a weepy schoolgirl. But the universe seems determined that Rose Tyler and the Doctor be miserable.

Now here we are on Bad Wolf bloody Bay. His hand is holding mine like it has so many times before, right before he grins and his eyebrows raise a bit and he whispers "Run." 'Cept he's not smiling and there's nothing to run from. Got to admit, though, I want to start running. I could run from him. From mum. From the ocean. _Into_ the ocean. Blasted, bloody ocean; so fucking cold, such wind. God, bleeding Norway.

Rose Tyler, the girl who manages to pack more joy and misery into 24 hours than any other being in the bleeding multiverse. Hell of a talent I've got. Could put a new spin on _I'd Do Anything_. How bad _can_ I make you cry? Love lost and won and…what? Whatever this is. The saddest fucking song in the world.

I wanna crawl under a fluffy blanket, cover my head, and sleep like the dead. I wanna eat a pile of chips as big as me and down enough tea to drown out this goddamned wind and these goddamned waves and my mum's sad, pity-full sighs and his look. Yeah, I can hear his look, there's a buzz, a whir; it sets the little hairs on my arms on end. I can feel that look. Taste it. I had to look away 'cause I couldn't handle seeing it, too. Not right now, anyway. Not right now. Not when I can still hear the sound of the TARDIS leaving my life forever. Only so much buzzing and whirring I can take at once.

I can't look at him. I'm trying real hard to slow down my mind because if I let it start having a go it'll be Bad Wolf all over again and I might start glowing in the eyes. You know, I killed all the Daleks then. Genocide. "We saved the universe at a cost—and the cost was him." Then what the hell am I? Was he keeping me around 'cause he had to keep an eye on the genocidal maniac? I don't think so. God I hope not. Please. Please. I thought he loved me, too. I jumped through bloody universes to find him because I believed it. But he left me here with his genocidal double rather than take me with him so maybe…Maybe my mind burning up wouldn't be a bad thing. God. I need some chips. I need a bed.

I need the Doctor. And he's here. But he just left me on this beach. Again. But he's here, too. I want to look at him, _really_ look at him. Maybe kiss him again, just to check. But I can't. Not yet. Not without my heart and brain exploding all over this beach. But I can't let go.


	2. The Doctor

_Doctor Who_ property of the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
>Title and epigraph of each chapter comes from the imitable Tracy Chapman's "The Promise."<br>Rated T for language.

* * *

><p><em>Remembering <em>  
><em>Your touch <em>  
><em>Your kiss <em>  
><em>Your warm embrace <em>  
><em>I'll find my way back to you <em>  
><em>If you'll be waiting <em>  
><em>I've longed for you and I have desired <em>  
><em>To see your face your smile <em>  
><em>To be with you wherever you are<em>

* * *

><p>She's not looking at me, I wish she would. It felt better somehow when she looked at me. Wouldn't if she was looking <em>through<em> me, but she didn't seem to be doing that. Well. At least not yet. Next time she looks in my general direction she may, but I can't think about that. Not now. Focus on the positive! Believe and you can achieve. Guh, self help books? Really, Donna? Maybe with my influence she'll pick up some Christie then move to Dickens or Shakespeare. Donna's future reading habits might not help me be more poetic right now (if I could make up a Shakespearean sonnet right now; Oh, never say that I was false of heart), but you know, a little more Will in the world never hurt anyone. Well, Carrionites might not get on with that. Well, I don't care so much about them right now.

Well, positive: still holding my hand. I can feel her heartbeat pulsing through the skin of her palm against mine. We match! It's brilliant! Bumpity-bump, only the two beats and now four. It quiets everything down a bit, too. Which is good, because there's a lot of this human existence that suddenly I _feel._ My hair is growing! Fantastic. I'm going to need to learn how to properly shave! My skin's a bit tingly, too. Huh. Human mitosis I suppose? A bit of the old human-scale cellular regeneration? Physical manifestation of mental experience? Those fabled butterflies in the tummy (on the planet Lepidoptera they actually have butterflies in their stomachs)? Love.

Look at me, Rose; look at _me_. Look at me with my pointy nose and my not-so-big ears and my sticky-uppy (but not ginger) hair. I'm the same. I love bananas, I hate pears. I still feel the earth spinning under our feet. I still feel time fixed and in flux, the little ripples washing over us as each step reverberates throughout the universe. I'll still want to wear glasses when I'm thinking. I may even _need _glasses someday. I like me trainers. I prefer my white Chucks to my red ones, but I was wearing my white ones. And my brown pin-stripey suit. Still, the red trainers and the blue suit will do. But I suppose that's the problem, isn't it? I'll _do_.

Oi, but _I _remember the way you catch your tongue between your teeth when you're being devious. I like you when you're devious. I remember that poodle skirt, and how my world fell apart the moment I saw you without your face and the anger that boiled from my stomach, the bile that rose to my throat and the moment—that smashing moment you were there in the street, twisting a bit so your skirt did that swishy-swish thing poodles skirts do so well, and you smiled and we hugged. And then when we played inspectors at Dame Kelly Holmes Close and you got me a cake with those edible ball bearings. I love edible ball bearings, they're brilliant, and you went around 2012 London ignoring the Olympic Opening Ceremonies to find me a cake with edible ball bearings even though I'd made you face the devil (perhaps) alone a few weeks before. You beat him, of course, you would. But I almost lost you. Losing the people I love: story of my life. Lives.

Rose, look at me. _Please_.


	3. Jackie Tyler

_Doctor Who _property of the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
>Title and chapter epigraphs from the imitable Tracy Chapman's "The Promise"<br>Rated T for language

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><p><em>Together again <em>

_It would feel so good to be _  
><em>In your arms <em>  
><em>Where all my journeys end <em>  
><em>If you can make a promise If it's one that you can keep, I vow to come for you <em>  
><em>If you wait for me and say you'll hold <em>  
><em>A place for me in your heart.<em>

* * *

><p>Poor kids, bless their hearts. They've been trying to figure this out. Think nobody in the world could possibly understand how they feel. No, your mum, she's just good for a cuppa and a shopping trip. Jackie's nice and all and sweet and maybe a bit short tempered and maybe a bit dull. Leave her and she'll be there to welcome you back, no matter how many times you broke her heart, how many nights she stayed up watching the snow on the telly cause she couldn't sleep wondering where in the world—well, the bloomin' <em>universe<em>—you were.

Peter Alan Tyler drove me nuts and made me angry and made me laugh and I loved him with my whole heart. God I loved him. Spent more than a few nights off my face after he died. I had little Rosie to keep me going—and she never did understand that's why her leaving hurt so much. I struggled through and managed to be happy enough again. But something broke when he died and never could get fixed. And that's fine. Sometimes things are better when they're a little broke. You figure out how much you liked the thing what's gone.

That don't mean you can't try to glue the vase back. Or get a vase that looks a lot like the old one. You always remember the old one, maybe your Nan gave it to your mum who gave it to you. You never forget such a thing. But you can't go your life without flowers. Too dreary. So you need to be okay with a new vase. And maybe it's a bit weird if the new vase looks just like the old one and acts like the old one. You know it's not your Nan's but it reminds you of your Nan's in all the good ways and it's there and your Nan's isn't any more, see? And if the new vase actually is your Nan's, but just from another universe or Time Lord-human meta something, well, luvs, how brilliant is that?

So I stood there on the beach a couple of feet from the two of them, two kids I really do love. I mean, my Rosie is my everything, but the Doctor, he's a hard bloke not to love. How he blushed when he thought I called my Tony "Doctor!" And I know he loves Rose. Same as the other one. Maybe more, he seemed to have the guts to tell her how he felt when the other didn't. And if it's true this one's only got one heart and will get old then I think he'll get something about Rose the other one never could. Realize that two bleeding years is a long time for a girl to wait for a half-arsed unfinished goodbye and that there's really not all the time in the world.

I remember finding new Pete and thinking I'd go barmy if I tried thinking about it. He's Pete, but he ain't. All the good Pete things still there. There were differences, sure. He's a little sadder, a little angrier, but also a little richer. Looked just like old Pete, same little quirks, like the I-think-I've-got-a-new-idea-but-I'm-not-sure-how-it'll-work nose wrinkle. I loved that nose wrinkle. Felt a bit wrong loving new Pete 'cause he wasn't old Pete. At first it was "My Pete" and "New Pete" but soon new Pete was my Pete, too. So I started thinking "New Pete" and "Old Pete" and that made me feel better. And Pete told me it was the same thing with him and his Jackie. I get a bit jealous of old Jackie sometimes. What she got to experience with him. Pete's jealous of old Pete sometimes. We both joked one night not too long ago that old Jackie and old Pete would go mental with if they saw new us. But we got each other and Tony and Rose (sometimes) and we're really happy. Really, truly happy. It's still bloody confusing. But I don't know about you but I've only got one heart and one life and the sky's almost fallen on my head too many times. Loving somebody as much as I love Pete is scary and confusing before you throw in parallel universes. But you bet your head it's worth every minute.

So there we was on the beach, and the new Doctor and Rose kissed ('bout bloody time), and cried, and looked at each other and then just stood there for a while. I phoned Pete to come and get us and talked to Tony and tried to give 'em their space. They didn't talk much on the ride home. But he wouldn't let go of her hand and I don't think she would've let him pull away if he tried. Poor Rosie, so lost and so full of hope at the same time and not knowing what to feel. A mother knows these things, just from a quick look. Didn't hurt that I knew _exactly_ what she was going through. So wrapped up in her own brain she didn't think she might have a shoulder to lean on. And him? Well, something tells me if he wasn't already a bit crazy he would be soon enough.


	4. Epilogue: Jackie Tyler

_Doctor Who _property of the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.  
>Title and epigraphs from the imitable Tracy Chapman's "The Promise."<p>

* * *

><p><em>I've longed for you and I have desired <em>  
><em>To see your face, your smile <em>  
><em>To be with you wherever you are<em>

* * *

><p>So the other night, we was all together for dinner. It's been a few weeks, now. I've watched them accidentally be comfortable with one another and then figure out what happened and get all awkward again, if not almost chilly. But tonight, we had a nice dinner and after I put Tony down and Pete was cleaning up, I came downstairs and they were sitting in the living room. I'm naughty, I know, but I couldn't help myself. I watched 'em a bit. They were laughing about something, Lord knows what. Don't matter to me. Rose had a real smile on her face. He made a funny gesture, some sort of impersonation maybe, she punched his arm. It was right cute. Usually that would be the time they'd get real awkward, laughter would catch in their throats and they'd scoot away from each other. But then she leaned her head on his shoulder. He stiffened up a bit, but then he just let it be. They just let it be.<p>

And for a second, it was like old times. I half expected Mickey to burst in the door with a greasy bag of chips. It was happy and sad all at once. The aftertaste was sweet, though. I let 'em have the rest of their moment without my prying eyes.


End file.
